


Give us this day our daily head

by Apathy



Category: Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Genre: Comedy, Humour, Jesus Christ Superstar (2000) - Freeform, M/M, Sacrilege, bad metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 19:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11409042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apathy/pseuds/Apathy
Summary: Jesus and Judas partake in some unholy communion.





	Give us this day our daily head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltedpin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltedpin/gifts).



> saltedpin prompted me to do this (and contributed a few of the lines), so this goes out to her.
> 
> This fic was inspired entirely by Mykal Rand's ['wtf is this shit' face](https://youtu.be/yxd0RBEXGWg?t=4m40s) during The Last Supper; I've gone with calling him James, since I don't know who he's actually supposed to be.

James peers out from between his fingers. “It’s happening again, isn’t it?”

He’s not sure why he even bothered asking – the answer is written clear as day across Simon and Peter’s pained expressions.

James tries to keep his sigh from being _too_ overdramatic, with middling success. But really, who could blame him? It’s the third time _those two_ have broken up today, and he hasn’t even had lunch yet.

He wouldn’t mind so much, if they just weren’t so damnably _loud_ about it.

“How come you keep offering your body to everyone, Jesus? I thought what we had was special!” 

James doesn’t even need to look in order to know that Jesus has his eyes closed, a slight tension around his jaw the only sign that his infinite patience is – once again – being sorely tested.

“I’m not asking them to literally take my body within themselves. It’s called a _metaphor_ , Judas. I know you know what that means. You spent all that time asking me if I had a hammer in my pocket, or if I was just happy to see you.” Jesus huffs. “I don’t even _have_ pockets!”

“That’s a double entendre, you buffoon.” Judas’ voice takes on a distinctly leery quality. “And I didn’t hear you complaining.”

James looks over towards the others. Peter has the air of a weary war veteran who has seen too much horror in the world and moved beyond the ability to care. Simon, ever subtle, jams the barrel of his gun into his own mouth and pretends to blow his brains out.

“You have a very… impressive… hammer.”

James dares a glance. Jesus, despite himself, is falling for this idiocy. As always.

 _Go on_ , his expression says.

“And you wield it so well. With such _strength_ and _confidence_.” Judas runs his eyes up and down Jesus’ body in what he probably thinks is a beguiling fashion, shrieking jealousy giving way to unguarded lust with remarkable speed.

Simon gags. “Well, now I don’t want lunch anymore. Which is good, because we’re never going to get it.”

Simon has a gift for prophecy: Jesus grabs Judas by the front of his shirt and kisses him hard, before dragging him off behind the closest pillar. It is neither wide enough nor far away enough to prevent the assault upon their eyes and ears that will inevitably begin shortly.

They really do need to get a larger place to live. Somewhere with actual separate rooms. This arrangement is just awkward.

Peter coughs, dragging himself to his feet. “On that note, I’m going to go fishing, unless we want to starve to death. We really should stop relying on Jesus so much for our food.”

Simon nods with great enthusiasm. “Especially since bread is now inextricably linked with the mental image of Judas eating cock.” He shudders delicately.

James curses and swats at Simon, who just laughs and saunters off, Peter trailing despondently in his wake.

He leans back against the wall: tired, frustrated, indecisive. There really isn’t much of anything to do around here except take in Jesus’ wisdom; but, going by the sounds echoing out from behind the pillar, there isn’t too much depth to what Jesus is preaching right now. Enthusiasm, yes; meaningfulness, no.

“Eat the body of Christ, Judas! It’s all yours!”

James scrambles to his feet with an alacrity that he never knew himself capable of, and looks about wildly.

Simon and Peter are climbing the scaffolding, escaping while they still can; he makes a beeline for them, stopping for nothing, not daring to look back.

It’s time he learned how to fish. Not that he’s at all hungry anymore; but still, it’s a good skill to have, and at least it’ll provide some kind of distraction.

“Oh, yes! Drink the blood of Christ!”

 _That’s not blood_ , he thinks hysterically, and puts on an extra burst of speed.

He wonders if any other Messiahs are hiring.


End file.
